


You Wanna Dance, I Wanna Sleep

by carmillahey



Series: Carmilla Week 2017 [3]
Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Carmilla Week, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 08:00:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11687409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carmillahey/pseuds/carmillahey
Summary: “My neighbor loves to blast 80’s music (only) and sing along at an ungodly volume that wakes me up every morning” auaka carmilla week, day 4: (a modified) 1980's





	You Wanna Dance, I Wanna Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> not entirely pleased with what I wrote. I had a lot more planned but stopped myself because I had other things to write.
> 
> anyway i fuckidng love 80's music so uhhhh yeah
> 
> songs mentioned are "love is a battlefield" and "i wanna dance with somebody" give em a listen if you haven't already heard.

Carmilla was in the middle of a dream, and a good one too. It wasn’t particularly appropriate, which made it much more enjoyable for her but less acceptable to talk about. Not that she wanted to share her fantasies and imaginary sex with anyone, that’s what the real life, tangible intercourse was for, but she digressed.

The gorgeous woman of her dreams, writhed underneath her, muscles twitching in response to her deliberate and hot touch. Her eyebrows furrow, her skin taut with pleasure. As she opened her mouth, to presumably let out a gracious moan, Carmilla heard something that was distinctly… not that sound. In fact, the woman began to sing, belting out lyrics that she couldn’t quite identify.

Carmilla’s eyes flew open and she instantly groaned, shoving her head under her thinning pillow and bunching the blanket near her shoulders.

It wasn’t the first time she had been awoken with serenading that permeated her dreams. In the dorm room next to her, was Laura.

She didn’t know much about her. They had met briefly at the events their RA held, but other than that, she had to fill in the blanks. 

She determined Laura was a morning person, and had an odd affiliation with blasting only 80’s music (she wondered why that time period but didn’t care enough to be curious. Her irritated anger took over before she had time to dwell) and reciting the lyrics at the top of her lungs, no regard for other people’s lives and the tasks she might be interrupting. Like sleep, which Carmilla needed, desperately. But despite all this, she never once confronted her about it. Often times, she just woke up, grumbled a bit while stuffing her ears with earplugs and drifted back to sleep. And Laura’s singing wasn’t even bad. She could hit the notes and match the key all while maintaining a pleasant tone. What prevented Carmilla from actually enjoying it was the time of day.

This morning’s choice was Pat Benatar's Love is a Battlefield. She could hear the muffled shouting, imagined Laura shuffling around with a hairbrush, skipping around the house. Perhaps she danced while making food or doing laundry. Carmilla sighed, thrusting her hand out of the blankets to search on her bedside table. When she couldn’t find what she was looking for, she peeked out, using her blurry eyes to locate the two little foam pegs.

They weren’t there, because of course they weren’t. No more sleep for her, if she couldn’t find her lifeline of sweet silence.

She groaned again, louder this time (still drowned out by the music) and kicked her blanket off in a wave of cloth. She didn’t even take the time to stretch, hunched over as she marched across her room, out her own door, leaving it ajar and sulking over to the door beside her.

Carmilla barely has enough motivation to knock, but somehow she did it, pounding on her door like there was an emergency. And there kind of is, she wanted to sleep again.

As expected, Laura doesn’t answer. She couldn’t hear over the volume of Miss Benatar and her emotional riffs. Carmilla tried the handle and discovered it unlocked, so she invited herself in.

The music was significantly louder now that she was closer to the source. The previous song ended and switched to a more upbeat one that she recognized to be an old pop hit. It doesn’t take long for her to find Laura (because the room is that small), dancing in only a t-shirt and underwear (boxer briefs, no less). She looked as though she had no care in the world, belting in unison with the female singer, unabandon and free as she folded the shirt in her hands. 

Carmilla stood there, a little dumbstruck but awed. Laura was mesmerizing with the sway of her hips and her energy as she bounced up and down in place, hair unkempt and clothes askew. It was a sight to behold, even in the wee hours of the morning (more like 9 am but it was early for her).

The blonde continued to dance, her eyes naturally flitting over to Carmilla after she had lingered for a few awkward verses.

Laura jumped, this time out of shock and leaned over to press something on a remote that rested on her bed. The silence was a sharp contrast from the noise she had endured since she woke up.

“Carm! You scared me!” she exclaimed, hand to her chest, heaving with the exertion of being spooked.

“Sorry,” Carmilla grumbled, “I couldn’t grab your attention over the concert going on.”

Laura had the decency to look ashamed, a slight blush rising on her cheeks.

“I didn’t know it was that loud.” She bit her lip and Carmilla couldn’t help tracking the movement with her eyes.

“Loud enough to wake me up,” Carmilla said and Laura blushed harder, fiddling with another item of clothing as she scrambled to busy herself.

“I’m sorry, I really am.” She grabbed a pair of jeans and tried her best to fold it in a neat square but it ended up being a knot of twisted material. She gave up and threw them into one of the piles, her eyes nervously flitting back and forth between Carmilla and the remote.

“Oh god,” Carmilla groaned, running a hand through her hair, which was likely more of a mess than Laura’s. “What now?”

“Since you’re awake and here…” In a quick motion, Laura pressed the same button again and music filled the air once more.

“Let’s dance!” 

(The woman on the track began singing about dancing and she wasn’t fond of the irony).

Laura’s grin was wide as she broke out in a series of awkward shoulder jerks, getting back into the groove. Laura began serenading Carmilla, beckoning her forward with a finger. When Carmilla glared and it was clear her attempt had failed, she tried the invisible lasso to get her closer. It was adorable and nerdy, which seemed entirely  _ Laura  _ and she couldn’t ignore it once she started tugging the rope.

Carmilla gave her a weak shimmy in return and let herself be pulled by the energy of the rope until she stood in front of a bopping Laura, whose smile was still just as strong, just as bright. 

When Laura grabbed her hands, she let her. Carmilla had no real control over the situation. Logically, she could say no, but there was no logic in the way Laura seemed to operate, from the volume of the music to the movement of her limbs as she followed the kick drum beat.

Laura swung their arms back and forth, twisted her hips and tilted her head from side to side. It was a pretty dated dance but seemed fitting for her taste. If she only listened to music from the past, she was sure to dance the same.

Carmilla tried not to stiffen at the contact, she wasn’t used to this: acting silly, disregarding people’s opinions (she was raised to be conscious of perception. Even if she didn’t act like she cared, she did) and relaxing (her poise was ever present, also per training in her youth).

But the more Laura continued to move, Carmilla felt more comfortable to play along. It was if there was this connection of energy flowing through them at their conjoined hands. The desire to dance exuded contagiously off Laura and Carmilla was not immune.

So, she relaxed her muscles and let herself be guided. To sway, to jump and twist, and shimmy. It didn’t matter if her movements were jerky or uncoordinated, Laura was laughing the whole time and looked as though she had never been happier and  _ that  _ in itself was enough of a motivator for Carmilla.


End file.
